


Kiss With A Fist

by themcgeek



Series: October 2014 Daily Writing Challenge [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Blow Jobs, Bunker Sex, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Human Castiel, Interior Decorating, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themcgeek/pseuds/themcgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas decorates the bunker. It doesn't go well. Until it does.</p><p>Written for the October Daily Writing Challenge day 8: decorating the house</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss With A Fist

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god this is so late   
> Title from Florence and the Machine

“God dammit , Dean,” Sam bellows as he stumbles down the stairs into the heart of the bunker. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, that list goes on for miles, Sammy. What’s my current offense?” The sound of the eldest Winchester’s heavy boots echo through the stone halls of the bunker. For as stealthy as they can be on hunts, a relaxed Winchester is akin to a herd of stampeding buffalo. When Dean rounds the corner, he has to stop to catch his breath after a laugh bursts forth. He can’t quite seem to get it, though, so he’s left gasping, one hand on his knees and the other wiping tears from his eyes.

Before him, Sam stands with sticky, stretchy fake spiderwebs tangled through his too-long hair, in his mouth, over his eyes, and between his fingers.

“Help meeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Dean giggles in a high-pitched squeal. “Oh my God, dude, you look like you just stepped off the set of The Fly. What the hell happened?”

“Oh like you don’t know,” Sam scoffs, trying in vain to disentangle himself.

“I…uh,” another voice rumbles from behind Dean. Castiel steps forward, hands buried in the pockets of his red hoodie that he could never quite bring himself to throw away. “That may have been me.”

“ You?”  Sam splutters. “But…”

“I was under the impression that homes were supposed to be decorated for Halloween. And that arachnids had something to do with it?” He steps forward again, shoulder to shoulder with Dean in an unconscious gesture of solidarity against an angry moose.

“Well, yeah,” Sam begins, his head now mostly free from the synthetic strands. “But generally people put this stuff  outside . So kids can see it or whatever.”

“I was under the impression that people seeing our secret bunker was a bad idea.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” Dean laughs, nudging Cas with an elbow. “We, uh. We don’t usually decorate for holidays though, man. ‘Specially not Halloween. We’ve got enough ghost and goblin shit happening in our real life.”

The now-human angel shrugs, and curls into himself, shrinking even more. His tennis shoes squeak lightly where the toe is being scuffed against the floor. “It just seemed like the human thing to do,” he mutters as he turns away.

Sam and Dean stare at the hunched shoulders of the retreating angel before Dean rounds on his brother. “Well what the fuck did you do THAT for? I thought I was supposed to be the emotionally constipated one, and you were supposed to be the touchy-feely self help bullshit guy.”

“Uh, Dean, might I remind you that he didn’t leave until you told him his decorations weren’t welcome?”

Dean chose to ignore his know it all brother. “Whatever, dude, if you hadn’t freaked out like a little bitch about a couple of spider webs,  which were fake , by the way, then we wouldn’t be HAVING this conversation.”

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place, Dean! He’s  your  angel, and  you are the one who fucked up here, not me. Now go fix it, while I fix these.” Sam flares his nostrils before spinning on his heel and walking away to replace the decoration, bits of web trailing behind him like toilet paper on a shoe.

Air hissed through his nostrils as Dean took a deep breath. Okay. Time to console an angel.

When he got to Cas’s room, he was surprised to find it empty. The bed was still unmade, and laundry was strewn across the floor. Dean had never been in here before, in all the time Cas had lived with them. It just seemed like the man should have his private space. But the door was ajar, and that’s practically inviting exploration. The air was almost stuffy, which was odd considering the well regulated temperature of the rest of the bunker. When Dean saw the lone air vent had been stuffed with washcloths and towels, he had to suppress a laugh. Ever since he Fell, Cas despised the cold, and was always begging Sam or Dean to turn up the heat. He was always vetoed by the brothers, and Kevin or Charlie if they were around.

Hints of generic laundry soap and sweat teased at Dean’s nostrils as he kicked laundry toward the empty hamper. It smelled good, stale though it was. It smelled like Cas, and warmth bloomed in his chest, causing his heart to stutter. It nearly stopped when he saw the bottle of lotion and box of tissues on the nightstand. Right. Time to go.

He wandered aimlessly through the labyrinthine halls of the bunker, until a series of dull thudding noises broke him out of his reverie. Each one was punctuated by a harsh exhalation or grunt, like someone getting hit. It was stupid, really, but Dean quickened his steps all the same until he reached the room that served as a gym. When he reached the door, his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth, and his feet stumbled to a stop.

Cas was facing off against the heavy bag, dripping with sweat. He had shed some layers since the not-quite-argument upstairs, and was now wearing little more than a sweat dampened wifebeater, gym shorts, and his shoes. Dark hair curled where it was plastered to his forehead and neck, framing blazing blue eyes.

Now that Dean was closer, he could hear that Cas was muttering under his breath between punches and kicks. “…Think I’m useless. I was an angel of the LORD. I have more years of fighting experience than they do on this planet…been observing human traditions since their inception…was a master strategist. I had my own-“ a harder punch, “ fucking -“ punch, “GARRISON,” he bellowed, rearing back and kicking the bag with all his might. One of the chains suspending it snapped, and the whole thing swung back crookedly, causing Cas to dodge out of the way.

He’s beautiful , Dean thought, as he took in the taut forearms that led to clenched fists, and the heaving chest. A pathetic whimper burst forth before he could catch it, and Cas’s head snapped up at the sound. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and Dean was reminded of the way Cas threatened to throw him back into the Pit so long ago. His dick twitched at the memory.

Cas stalked forward and grabbed Dean by the front of his flannel. “Take this off. Now. You’re fighting me.”

“Cas, man, I don’t want to fight, I want to-“

“I don’t give a  fuck what you want, Dean Winchester. Fight. Me.”

Dean barely had gotten the flannel detached from where it was stuck around his wristwatch when Cas launched himself forward. He bent at the waist and curled his shoulders in, causing the former angel to go rolling over, and landing on the mats with a  whump .

“Cas, buddy, c’mon. I don’t want to fight you.”

“Because you know. You  know that I’m not useless, Dean.” For as quickly as the fire had filled him, the rage flees from Cas just as quickly. It is apparent in the slowing breaths that saw in and out of his lungs, the release of tension from his arms. He thumps his head back against the floor and rolls it to the side to glare at Dean through slitted lids. “When did I become so worthless to you, Dean?”

Dean chokes on the lump in his throat and drops to his knees at Cas’s side. “You’re not…you’ve never… Cas. ” All caution is thrown to the wind. For once in his miserable life, Dean decides to do what he  wants . With barely any hesitation, he slides his fingers through the damp hair atop his friend’s head. Cas’s eyes flutter shut at the touch, but he cannot hide his furrowed brow. He looks like he’s in pain. Maybe he is.

“Dean, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. Cas. How could you—“  Fuck this , Dean thinks, and uses the hand fisted in Castiel’s hair to bring their mouths together.

There’s a moment of surprise and hesitation where neither of them so much as breathe. Lips are pressed against lips, but no one is moving. And then Cas just comes to  life. He’s reaching back, reaching toward Dean, struggling to find purchase in the too-short strands of hair. His trembling hands can’t seem to get a grip, but as his short nails scrape against the slightly larger man’s scalp, Dean  moans , and Cas breathes it in like air.

The bunker is well insulated, and no sounds reach the pair beyond their harsh, ragged breathing, and the whisper-soft rasp of their stubble, punctuated by the wet smack of separating lips when they can pull themselves apart. It’s heady, and neither of them are in control. But they’re not out of control, either. Rather, it’s like they’re an audience to themselves, to a part of the movie they’ve been longing to see.

A new sound joins the fray, causing Dean to pull away and nose along Cas’s cheekbone. It’s a soft rustling, fabric against vinyl, and Dean looks down to see Cas’s hips shifting back and forth, thrusting into the air. Whimpers break free from him with every exhale. Dean groans again and attaches his lips the fluttering pulse in the former angel’s neck. “Cas, god, you’re so…” He can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence, and instead continues his journey, sucking and biting down Cas’s throat, across his exposed collarbone. He tastes of salt, and detergent, and Dean wants  more .

Cas’s free hand, which had been roaming Dean’s back, scraping lightly up and down his spine, tangles itself in a belt loop and pulls  hard. Dean topples over, and his ribcage rests across Cas’s hip. Dean moans at the feel of an erection pressing into him, while Cas utters a soft curse at finally having something to rut against. “Dean, I need… I need more.  Help me .”

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby. Just hold on.” Rearing up again, Dean whips his shirt off, flexing self consciously once his torso is bare.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas sighs reverently, placing his hand where its print was once scarred.

“Mmm,” Dean replies noncommittally. It’s hard to feel beautiful when there is a literal (fallen) angel spread beneath him, eyes lust-black and chapped lips kiss-swollen and shiny. He swings his leg over the other man’s hips, bringing their groins together. They both hiss and arch into the touch. Hooking his thumbs under the hem of Cas’s tank, he begins pushing it up, scraping his nails and peppering kisses the entire way. When he reaches Cas’s nipple, he pauses a moment to flick his tongue out and taste the freckle that rests above the right one.

“No more games,” Cas growls. In one sinuous movement, he hooks his legs around Dean’s, bucks his hips, and pins the elder Winchester to the mats. “It’s my turn. I want you, Dean. I want to taste you. And I want to get what I want.” He grips both Dean’s wrists in one hand, and slams them to the floor above the hunter’s head. Dean arches into the contact, whimpering weakly.

His mouth follows a similar path to the one Dean traversed just moments before. Nipping and tonguing down his neck and across his collarbones. Gently tracing the outline of the protective tattoo with his tongue. Dean’s chest is smooth, sparsely haired, and he can feel every slide of Cas’s lips across his skin. Cas dips his tongue into Dean’s bellybutton, and sucks a light mark into the skin beside it. The freckled flesh trembles, and Dean huffs a laugh. Cas responds it in kind, breath tickling through the trail of coarse hair leading into the hunter’s pants.

Cas’s arm is stretched to its full length, now. He raises an eyebrow as he lessens the pressure, and Dean nods. He removes his hand, and while the Winchester flexes his fingers, he makes no move to lower his arms. Cas grins, and it looks feral. Dean shouldn’t find that so hot.

“May I,” he rumbles, fingers paused at the button of Dean’s jeans.

“Oh, god,  please . Do whatever you want to me, Cas, just  touch me.”

After that, Cas wastes no time, flicking open the button, tugging down the fly, and yanking the pants down Dean’s hips and over his ass. The hunter hasn’t caught his breath yet, and when Cas opens his mouth and takes him down to the base in one smooth motion, the little air he had caught is punched out of him. Dean’s eyes roll back into his head at the hot suction on his cock, and his lashes tangle together as his lids flutter shut.

Cas pulls off with a pop. “I don’t think so, Winchester. Watch me, or I stop this right now.”

Dean gulps, and nods frantically. He can practically hear his brain rattling around in his skull.

“Dean.”

“Mmmf.”

“Your eyes are still closed.” Cas begins to pull away. Panicking, desperate to have that luscious mouth returned to its previous task, Dean arches his hips up as far as he can and snaps his eyes open. “That’s what I thought,” Cas mumbles into the the neatly trimmed hair surrounding the other man’s pulsing cock.

A bead of precome wells from the tip, and begins its slow, sticky slide down the side of the shaft. With a wink of one of his too-blue eyes, Castiel sticks his tongue out, and licks from the bottom up, meeting the salty sweet emission halfway. He hums with approval at the same time a guttural groan rips forth from Dean’s throat. The vinyl floor mats sound like they’re tearing as the hunter scrabbles for purchase, desperate to be obedient and keep his hands where they were placed. 

“So good for me, Dean,” Cas breathes before sucking the head into his mouth once more.

Dean sighs brokenly as he watches his cock disappear into that wide, pink mouth. Strong hands grip his hips, keeping him from thrusting the way his body demands. He can barely bring himself to blink, because Cas isn’t blinking either. With every movement up and down, their eyes never break contact.

Each downward motion, Cas takes Dean deeper into his throat, until his nose is once again resting against the hunter’s belly. He hollows his cheeks and lets his tongue dance around the slit and under the head, relishing each new pulse of precome that he finds.

It’s too much. “Ca-aa-aass,” Dean sobs. “Cas, God, please, I can’t-I’m-oh  God don’t stop.” 

Stopping was never on the agenda. But hearing Dean’s voice cracking with pleasure makes Cas groan in agreement. The vibrations travel through Deans’ cock, into his tightly drawn balls, and that’s it. As he comes, his shoulders arch off the mats while his head is thrown back in ecstasy. He’s completely silent through his orgasm, but the noises bursting forth from Cas as he swallows Dean’s release down more than makes up for it.

When his dick finally begins to soften, Dean is able to bring his shoulders back to the floor. He flexes his fingers as he begins to lower his arms, and every joint pops, making him sound like a bowl of rice krispies. Cas still seems reluctant to pull off, and is shuddering where he is positioned between Dean’s knees. It’s not until still-crackling fingers card through the sable hair that Cas pulls off. 

There’s a too long moment of wide-eyed silence as the two men stare first at each other, and then anywhere but. Cas grimaces as his knees simultaneously pop when he goes to rock back and sit on his heels. The sound draws Dean’s attention back immediately.

“Holy shi--Cas?”

“Mm,” Cas grumbles. His gravel voice has gotten even deeper, and Dean’s spent cock makes a valiant effort at twitching.

“Did you..?” Dean gestures awkwardly at where Cas’s shorts are no longer tented. A dark stain is slowly spreading.

“It appears so. This is...uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, I suppose you’re right. We shouldn’t have-God, Cas, I’m so sorry. I’m just gonna-”

“Dean,” Cas sighs. 

“Yeah?” His eyes are trained somewhere over Cas’s shoulder, near the door. Maybe if he stares hard enough he can teleport out.

“I meant my shorts.”

“Oh.”  Oh .

“Indeed.”

“So...shower?”

“Lead the way.”

 

**  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> First smut. Cue the blushing.


End file.
